


Stargazing, Botany, and Other Pursuits

by somanyopentabs



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, courting, mentions of team - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyopentabs/pseuds/somanyopentabs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce doesn't believe in luck.  Clint doesn't believe in not wearing purple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stargazing, Botany, and Other Pursuits

**Author's Note:**

> For Becca--I hope you like this!

It was bound to happen eventually.

The Hulk wasn’t called upon for every mission, and Bruce was thankful for that. Of course, the Hulk was no use in espionage; the only one on the team less subtle than Dr. Banner’s other half was Thor. 

And there really was no reason to call upon the angriest Avenger when an enemy could be neutralized just as effectively by the other members of the team. Bringing out the big guns, or rather, the big _guy_ , was best left in reserve. The others did enough property damage by themselves without adding the Hulk’s special brand of ‘saving the day’ into the mix.

But Fury had been right about one thing; the universe was no longer keen to leave the Earth to its own devices. Thor being banished to Earth had merely been a catalyst—and Bruce knew all about catalysts.

Loki, the Chitauri—those had only been the first challengers to Bruce’s fairly modest home planet. The urge to conquer, the desire to own, and rule, the quest for power—all these were near-universal constants, and by no means did they end with the defeat of the aliens who had invaded Manhattan.  


It was only a matter of time before the next invasion.

It happened on a Friday, four months (a mere one hundred and twenty full rotations of the relatively small blue marble planet) after Loki’s army had been vanquished. The new would-be conquerors announced their presence with a fleet hovering menacingly over the city. The enemy spaceships descended in true H. G. Wells-esque fashion.

It was hardly old hat for the newly formed Avengers to deal with invading forces, but they were far more prepared than the first time. Under Cap’s orders and shield they were sent out. Thor, like always, was wielding his hammer as he had done for a thousand years and would conceivably continue to do so for long after the rest of their ensemble had disbanded in one way or another. Natasha was armed with specialized weapons that Tony and Bruce had created just for this moment—Clint’s arrows were shiny, new, and increasingly lethal as well. And Tony was already in his suit and in the air when Bruce transformed.

 

*

 

There were times when Bruce wished he could say that waking up somewhere unknown, naked and confused, was no longer an issue for him.  


Unfortunately, now was one of those times.

Bruce blinked dazedly—he could just barely hear Tony’s voice in the background: “I don’t see why they always have to attack New York of all places—it’s like they all know I keep most of my stuff here.”

Another voice—Steve?—answered drily, “Yes, Tony, the entire universe is conspiring against you.”

More words followed after that, but Bruce stopped listening, choosing instead to close his eyes for a brief moment and pretend that he wasn’t sitting in a pile of rubble while superheroes traded quips in the background.

His mind must have drifted somehow, because the next thing he knew, there was a warm hand on his shoulder and a concerned voice speaking his name.

“Bruce?”

Bruce opened his eyes to a bright-eyed Clint Barton, who immediately backed out of his personal space.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Fine, fine,” Bruce answered, his throat hoarse. “I don’t—“ he paused to cough momentarily—“I don’t suppose you have any pants I can borrow?”

Clint looked sheepish for a moment before holding out an article of clothing. “Steve sweet-talked someone into giving us these.”

Bruce wasn’t quite sure why Clint sounded so hesitant until he stood up and started to slip on the garment. They were shorts, which was fine, he’d had to make do with less before, and it was hardly strange for him to borrow a stranger’s clothes, except—

“Are these women’s shorts?” he asked finally, looking up at Clint. The shorts themselves barely came to mid-thigh, and the cut of the cloth accentuated the slight curve of his hips.

“That’s not a problem, is it?” Clint asked, shifting from one foot to the other and biting at his lip.

Bruce shrugged. It was better than nothing, which he’d had to work with before, sometimes alone in the middle of a jungle. 

“Hey, Banner,” Tony said, finally wandering over to them. “Nice daisy dukes.”

“It was all I could find,” Steve added apologetically, stepping up to where their team seemed to be gathering, with Bruce as the reluctant focal point.

Natasha and Thor joined them last, and Natasha held out a old and heavy-looking quilt she’d procured from who-knows-where.

“Thanks,” Bruce said as he wrapped it around his upper body. 

 

*

 

Back in the Tower, Bruce headed for his floor as soon as he could. He badly needed a shower and not to be wearing a blanket and short shorts.

Two hours later, there was a knock on his door.

Bruce was not accustomed to finding Hawkeye standing in his doorway and looking sheepish and tongue-tied. “Clint? Everything okay?” 

Clint nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s—yeah.”

Bruce stood back from the entryway, and Clint took that as enough invitation, tentatively glancing about the new surroundings.

“Did you, er, need something?” Bruce waved an all-encompassing hand awkwardly before finally clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Are you busy?” Clint’s eyes had apparently soaked up enough of the immediate vicinity and they were now focused entirely on Bruce’s face. Those blue eyes shone with something Bruce couldn’t quite decipher. There was something akin to concern, and possibly compassion, but beyond that there was something else, something hiding in plain sight, and Bruce decided that he really didn’t know the archer well enough to make a guess at what that might be.

Bruce thought about Clint’s question for a moment. He wasn’t so much busy as he was recuperating, not that he needed physical rest at that point nearly so much as breathing room to get his emotions back in their proper place. Tony talked about his control like it was something fixed, as if now that he’d obtained it, it was just _there_. But Bruce had to be constantly vigilant, and it was still jarring to come back from letting loose.  


But he was a scientist, naturally curious, and it wasn’t as if many people made it a point to come visit him. In fact, everyone seemed to give him plenty of space afterwards, even Tony—although Tony might be doing his own version of a post-battle detox.

He didn’t want to usher Clint away without finding out what was going through his head, so he answered, “No, not really. Would you like something to drink?”

In Bruce’s kitchen, Clint leaned casually against the counter while Bruce stood on tiptoes to reach two glasses, pouring them each some water. Bruce didn’t do _drinks_ like Tony or Thor did, and Clint had indicated that he didn’t either.

“Thanks,” Clint said, softly and politely when Bruce handed him his glass. Clint took a long sip, his quick eyes flickering all around the kitchen. “I like your plants.”

There was a small collection of potted plants on the counter space by the window. Nothing too exotic or difficult to care for, but Bruce carefully and dutifully watered them every day. The African violets were blooming, and the Philodendron would need to be trimmed soon.

“Oh,” Bruce said, as if noticing them for the first time. “They’re, uh, nothing special.” Which was patently untrue, at least to him; he’d probably be more than a little upset if he let any of their roots dry out. He just liked to have something to care for that he couldn’t screw up too badly.

Clint took another sip of water and then slid his finger gracefully around the rim of the glass. Setting the glass noiselessly down on the counter, he said, “You look better. Than earlier, I mean.”

Bruce immediately looked down at his outfit; he was wearing a pair of slacks and a blue button-up that he’d forgotten to tuck in or even do up the last few buttons. “Well, I imagine anything’s an improvement over being covered in dust and wearing those.” He pointed to where he’d stuffed the borrowed items into a bag and set them near a cupboard, unsure of what to do with them.

Clint grinned, walked over, pulled out the shorts and held them up. “Yeah, I don’t know. These do have a certain charm.”

Bruce could tell he was going a little pink, the memory of his lack of modesty from earlier in the day flashing in front of his eyes like a beacon of embarrassment. Clint noticed, of course. Clint noticed everything.

“Er. I didn’t come up here to make fun of you,” Clint declared quickly. “I really don’t think you looked bad at all.”

Bruce tried his best to shake off the feeling of humiliation, his loose black curls falling against his forehead in the process. “It’s okay. It was an alien invasion, not a fashion show. And I’m used to, you know. Being stared at.”

“Oh.” Clint had a curious look on his face. “Well, that’s—bear with me for a second.”

Bruce watched in a mixture of wonder and confusion as Clint shucked off his boots and began to shimmy out of his black cargo pants, revealing a pair of form-fitting purple boxers underneath.

“What are you...?” Bruce trailed off as Clint freed himself from his pant legs and began pulling on the now-infamous pair of daisy dukes, striking a pose with his hands on his hips once he’d pulled them on all the way, zipped them up, and buttoned them.

“Now we’re even,” Clint declared triumphantly, shooting Bruce an unselfconscious grin. “How do I look?”

Bruce worried at his lower lip with his teeth. Clint certainly filled out the shorts better than he had—Clint’s muscular legs were showcased by the length of the material where it fell just above mid-thigh on his frame. When Clint did a little twirl, grinning all the while, Bruce couldn’t help but notice the way the cloth of the shorts clung to the attractive curve of Clint’s backside. That was probably highly inappropriate for Bruce to think, and he scolded himself internally. “You look—you look, uh, you didn’t really come up here to do that, did you?”

“No, no. I just—I came to cheer you up. Is it working?” Clint sounded so endlessly hopeful, his hands falling confidently on his hips as if he did this sort of thing every day.

Bruce let out a deep breath and allowed himself to smile a little. It was the oddest display he’d seen in a while, and that was really saying something, considering he was an Avenger. But people didn’t just go out of their way to cheer him up, and that in itself was noteworthy. “Yeah, I think it is.”

 

*

 

The next time Clint knocked on Bruce’s door, Bruce came face-to-leaf with a plant Clint was holding out to him.

“It’s lucky bamboo,” Clint explained when Bruce had cautiously taken it from his outstretched hands. “I noticed you didn’t have any, and, well, this stuff is really easy to take care of.”

“Thank you. I’ll put it next to the Spathiphyllum—er, Peace Lily,” Bruce amended when he caught sight of Clint’s puzzled expression.

Bruce offered Clint iced tea and was gratified when Clint stayed, sitting up on Bruce’s kitchen counter, sipping his beverage and babbling contentedly, as if he belonged there.

 

*

 

Bruce liked the roof of the tower because he liked fresh air and open spaces, and in the city, there was a considerable lack of that. It was clear that Clint liked the roof because he liked being up high. It was a surprise to neither of them that they wound up inadvertently meeting there one night.  
There was a slight breeze that played with Bruce’s hair, causing several curls to drift over his forehead.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Clint said, the first to break the silence. “Come here often?” He was sitting on the very edge of the building, his legs flung carelessly over the side. The sight of Clint sitting in so precarious a position made Bruce’s chest tighten up. He felt...protective? Yes, that was definitely it. Like he wanted to tug Clint away from the ledge and surround him with soft pillows.

“It’s dizzying just looking at you like that,” Bruce said, shoving his hands behind his back to keep himself from doing anything stupid, like grabbing Clint by his stylishly upturned collar and dragging him to safety. Clint flirted with danger just as much as Tony did, but Clint didn’t have a suit to protect him.

Clint smiled and rolled away from his seat, doing something not unlike a back flip to land on his feet in front of Bruce. “You know I was in the circus, right?”

That gave Bruce pause. He didn’t have nearly as much intel on the rest of the team as they had on him; he had been unaware. “I do now.”

Clint laughed before casting his eyes downward and giving Bruce a sly look from under his dusty blond eyelashes. “Nothing special, really. The archery’s what they keep me around for. Everything else is just flair.”

Bruce met Clint’s look with a knowing one of his own. “And they only keep me around for the smashing.”

“And the genius stuff,” Clint pointed out. “SHIELD’s not _just_ interested in your pretty green face.”

Bruce snorted out a laugh and then immediately tried to hide his face in his arm, embarrassed.

“Hey, no, that was the best geeky laugh I’ve ever heard,” Clint said, pushing Bruce’s limbs to his sides. “You’ve just got to _own_ it, is all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep,” Clint said knowledgeably. “You can’t hide from your roots. That’s why I don’t care if everyone knows I was in the circus. I’ll just wear my purple loud and proud, baby. Nothing to be ashamed of, you know? I mean, what if I had never joined up with the circus? What if I’d never picked up a bow? I’d probably just be some schmuck behind bars, or worse.”

“If I’d never been involved with gamma radiation...” Bruce trailed off, unwilling to put into words what was so obvious.

“Well, then, you’d never have met me, and that would be a real tragedy,” Clint exclaimed in his over-exuberant voice.

Bruce smiled helplessly, completely taken in by Clint’s charming manner of speaking.

“Hey, hold on,” Clint said suddenly, reaching out and brushing gentle fingers against Bruce’s cheek. When he brought his hand away, Bruce could see that one of his own eyelashes was perched on the very tip of Clint’s finger. Clint held it in front of Bruce expectantly. “Well, go on, make a wish.”  


“Excuse me?” Bruce boggled at the suggestion.

“You know, make a wish. Close your eyes and blow. You’ve never made a wish on an eyelash before?”

Bruce shook his head; to him, Clint was speaking gibberish.

“That’s a shame,” Clint said, frowning. “But hey, first time and all, this one’s sure to come true. So, go on.”

With Clint’s prompting, Bruce cautiously closed his eyes and blew out a puff of air.

“Is that all?” Bruce asked when he opened his eyes to Clint looking rather pleased.

“All except for the waiting,” Clint said, meeting his eyes, his sharp eyes looking softer and more open than Bruce had ever seen them look. Bruce realized that somewhere in between closing his eyes and opening them, their faces had drawn close together, so that Bruce would only have to lean forward just another few inches and their lips would meet.

The sound of thunder echoed in the background, and Tony landed next to them in his suit, his electronically altered voice saying, “Avengers assemble” just before he blasted off back into the sky.

“And that’s our cue,” Clint declared gleefully, picking up his bow from where it had been stowed nearby.

 

*

 

The Avengers had managed to draw the latest threat out of the city, away from tall buildings and high concentrations of civilians, and into the countryside.

Tony had managed to convince the team to rest up in one of his country mansions before heading back to the tower. Bruce suspected that it was at least partly for his benefit. Tony liked to secretly do nice things for other people, and Bruce could think of no other reason that they were out in the wide open space of the wild than for the simple fact that he’d mentioned offhandedly to Tony that he missed it.

The sun was beginning to set, and Clint found him out in the gazebo, which was perfectly okay, because for once, Bruce wasn’t hiding. He was just getting some fresh air and enjoying their brief sojourn away from the city. Here, at least, he could take deep breaths and stretch his legs and not feel like his every move was being watched, catalogued, and then photocopied in triplicate.

“So, what’re you doing all the way out here by your lonesome?” Clint looked perfectly at home against the backdrop of trees. Clint looked at home everywhere, while Bruce was the opposite. He didn’t feel like there was anywhere he really belonged. Being away from civilization made it less obvious, but it was still true.

Bruce shrugged. “Just enjoying the country air. You didn’t think I was out here, oh, I don’t know, making daisy chains and hugging trees, did you?”  


“A _what_ chain?” Clint’s eyes went a bit wide before he snapped his fingers and mumbled, “Oh right, you mean flowers.” He shook his head and said, much clearer, “No. Just curious.”

Bruce hummed a little in response, letting his eyes dart upwards. “The stars are coming out. You can’t see stars like these back in the city.”

“Yeah? You gonna make a wish on one of them?” Clint straddled the wall of the gazebo, making the unlikely position seem effortless and somehow comfortable.

Bruce laughed, a little bitterly. “What is it with you and wishes, anyway?”

“What’s the harm in it?” Clint challenged, blinking up at the stars in question.

“Nothing. I just...I guess I just don’t understand your fascination with the subject.” Bruce raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t mean to be so obstinate. Clint had never been anything but pleasant to him, and here was Bruce, too skeptical to even play along nicely. If superstition didn’t go against science so completely, Bruce might have been able to keep his thoughts to himself and let Clint have his fun. 

Clint hopped off the wall and crowded into Bruce’s space, twirling him around so that Bruce’s back was resting against Clint’s chest. “You wanna tell me all about what’s up there in the sky? Yeah, I know, you’ve probably got a million explanations for what we’re looking at. But I’ve always seen better from far away. And you know what I see when I look up at the night sky?”

Clint’s breath was warm against the shell of Bruce’s ear, and he couldn’t suppress a shiver as Clint talked in that exhilarating tone of his. Clint’s hands were firm and gentle at Bruce’s waist, and he couldn’t help thinking that no one ever touched him like that, not anymore, and never so gently. Sure, Steve would make an effort to place a well-meaning hand on his shoulder, and Tony would bodily push and drag him around the lab when there was something that he needed Bruce to set his attention on right that very second, but it had been ages since Bruce had been handled like something fragile, like he might break.

“I’m listening,” Bruce said in response, his voice quiet, a mere whisper against the background noise of crickets chirping and cicadas buzzing in the woods beyond.

“It’s hope, Bruce. And possibility. That’s what I see. When I was growing up, poor and in the country, we didn’t have a whole lot. But we could make a wish, you know? A wish didn’t cost anything. And a star never broke any promises.”

“Did...did any of your wishes come true?” Bruce asked, feeling simultaneously awed and foolish.

“I’d like to think so.” Clint released his hold on Bruce’s middle and backed away, and Bruce immediately mourned the loss of contact.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said. “I didn’t mean to sound derisive, before.”

“Don’t be sorry. You can make it up to me, if you want.”

“Oh?”

Clint nodded, looking mischievous. “There’s something else country boys like to do by starlight.” He pulled Bruce into his arms again, this time so that they were face to face.

“Please tell me it’s kissing and not, I don’t know, cow tipping,” Bruce said, licking his lips while his heart thudded mercilessly fast and his stomach fluttered in anticipation.

“Nah, cow tipping’s the second date,” Clint answered, and leaned in to claim Bruce’s mouth. The kiss was soft and sweet and over much too quickly, to Bruce’s dismay. “We better head back to the mansion before they send out a search party,” Clint said, starting to head in that direction.

Bruce sought out a bright star with his eyes and, against his own better judgment, silently made a wish before following Clint back.

 

*

 

Clint didn’t bring up the kiss again, once they returned to the tower. Bruce wondered if it was a one-time thing, a phenomenon brought on by too much whimsy and not enough sleep.

A week after their return, Clint stopped by Bruce’s floor with an orchid that was growing in a chipped terracotta pot.

“This one is from Natasha,” Clint explained, setting it on the counter. “I told her about your countertop garden, and she thought you would like this. Sorry the pot’s cracked—she knocked a guy out with it first.”

“Ah, well. Reduce, reuse, recycle,” Bruce recited. “Plus, it’s the thought that counts. I’ll be sure to tell her thanks.”

Clint gifted him with a smile of approval. Bruce wasn’t nearly so blasé about super spy antics when he’d first signed up with the team.

Bruce had his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Clint grabbed his forearm as he tried to walk past him to see what he had to offer Clint to drink. Clint didn’t let go, however, so Bruce looked up to meet his eyes. Clint was staring down at Bruce’s arm, tracing the smattering of freckles that was there, normally hidden by Bruce’s attire.

“What...what’s wrong?” Bruce stuttered. The fact that Clint was touching him again, so casually, was enough to make Bruce anxious. What did the other man want from him?

“Looks like a constellation,” Clint said, his voice taking on an almost dreamy quality.

Bruce followed Clint’s finger with his eyes as he connected the dots with imaginary lines.

“Sagittarius.”

“The archer?” Bruce raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Well, maybe this freckle here’s stretching it a little,” Clint admitted, tapping the odd-freckle-out with his finger and grinning. “Still, it’s pretty close.”

Now Bruce rolled his eyes; this was really too much. “So, what?”

“Nothing.” Clint released his arm.

“I don’t believe in fate,” Bruce reminded him as he reached for two glasses out of his cupboard. One of them slipped from his hand, and Clint gracefully caught it before it hit the floor.

“I never said I did, either. Most of what people call fate is just good timing.”

Bruce sighed, setting the glasses down before he broke them out of frustration. “Like you and me?” he asked, tired of being just on the edge of knowing what Clint wanted.

“If you want,” Clint answered, his eyes flashing bright as the sky.

Bruce studied him for a moment. There was that open look again, the one that Bruce couldn’t quite read, because Bruce was a scientist, and yet he couldn’t measure Clint or label him or expect him to react the same way twice. And Bruce immediately realized the mistake he’d been making this whole time, and he nearly shouted eureka when it finally clicked.

“You’re waiting on _me_ ,” Bruce said, turning to face Clint bravely, willing his anxiety to leave him in peace for a few brief moments.  


“Well, yeah,” Clint said, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Ah,” Bruce said, cupping Clint’s face in his hands and kissing him deeply; finally, _finally_ giving into his urges and kissing him with every ounce of passion and repressed want that he had within himself. There was pent up desire, and need, and longing, and he was giving it all to Clint. Wonderful, patient Clint who hadn’t pushed and who had brought him plants, who had opened up his heart and risked being laughed at—he _had_ been laughed at. And so Bruce gave it his all, because _oh, Clint_ \--Clint had given so much already. And Bruce, well, he didn’t believe in fate, or in luck. But Bruce was a lucky, _lucky_ man.


End file.
